


Griefer

by Ezlebe



Series: .tv/FirstOrder [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Twitch Streamer, M/M, Underwear Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 16:59:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16896480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ezlebe/pseuds/Ezlebe
Summary: “Was it expensive?” Phasma says, reaching out and tapping the discarded packaging. “The service.”“He didn’t even pay for it, they’responsoringhim,” Hux says, feeling his voice lower with a frustrated scoff. He still can't be sure if the monthly packages are gifts or trolling. “He just gave my information instead of his.”“Oh,” Phasma intones, leaning back on the counter, head tipping sideways onto a curled fist. “...So he only wears designer briefs?”“As if I can tell the difference,” Hux says, shoving the pair back in the bag and throwing it to the counter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Old Twitch tumblr fic! I've got two particular parts that are probably the only ones I'm going to post because they're directly related to each other. The first chapter was posted [Aug 2 2016](http://ezlebe.tumblr.com/post/148381267728/a-couple-days-ago-a-ridiculous-conversation) and the second on [Feb 13 2017](http://ezlebe.tumblr.com/post/157221098798/special-valentines-edition-smut-for-the-twitch-au). 
> 
> It's mostly smut and isn't even a real epilogue, doesn't have any gaming at all, but I hope they're still well-received!

“It’s a what?” 

“An underwear service,” Hux says, taking the slim parcel from Phasma’s hands and wondering, again, how she manages to get his mail. He’s more than certain that it’s some kind of felony. “Once a month I get some  _special_  pair, courtesy Ren’s complete lack of tact.”

Phasma’s eyes draw down to the package “... Racy ones?” 

“Hardly,” Hux says, tearing open the seal with little thought and brandishing the newly arrived pair.

“I don’t need to...” Phasma says, lurching back and then freezing, brow furrowing as she stares at the green and stripy pattern. “Oh.”

Hux agrees with a short scoff, shaking out the trunks further with a flick of his wrist. “Aside from being gaudy, they’re [positively ordinary](https://www.meundies.com/products/trunk).”

Phasma stares for another long moment, as if trying to understand, “Were yours... bad?”

Hux shakes his head, looking down at the pair and turning them over in his hands. “Perhaps less soft.”

“Was it expensive?” Phasma says, reaching out and tapping the discarded packaging. “The service.”

“He didn’t even pay for it, they’re  _sponsoring_  him,” Hux says, feeling his voice lower with a frustrated scoff. He still can't be sure if the monthly packages are gifts or trolling. “He just gave my information instead of his.”

“Oh,” Phasma intones, leaning back on the counter, head tipping sideways onto a curled fist. “...So he only wears designer?”

“As if I can tell the difference,” Hux says, shoving the pair back in the bag and throwing it to the counter. 

* * *

 

“Did you get new ones?” 

“Yes,” Hux says, absolutely ashamed to know exactly what Ren’s on about. He’s not sure how Ren always knows, but is fairly certain shipping emails are involved.

“Are you wearing them?”

Hux glances down at the edges peeking across his thighs, then back up to the cam, “Why?”

“Stand up.”

Hux rolls his eyes in disbelief, “No.” 

“Come on,” Ren insists, his tone wheedling. 

“No.” 

Ren narrows his eyes, “Do it.” 

“ _No_ ,” Hux repeats, a third time and feeling just as frustrated by it, narrowing his eye in turn. 

Ren actually huffs, leaning back in his chair and glaring hard, almost as if giving up, before shoving at the arms of his chair and storming off camera. 

Hux waits a few seconds, then lets his head fall when the door clicks open, reaching up and tapping at his forehead with a closed fist and a wave of regret. Ren had a point about the fact Hux could get in whenever he wanted, but Hux really should’ve just paid to get his door fixed. The key is just far too much freedom. 

He doesn’t look up when Ren enters the room, only when it takes a few moments too long for him to actually get across it. Ren is standing still in the doorway, brow furrowed at something on his phone and completely engaged as if he hadn’t just stomped over here to gawk. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Text,” Ren says, shoving it back into a pocket and then clumsily sliding across the wood floor on socked feet. “Stand up.” 

Hux has half a mind to do what he did last month and refuse again, which ended rather pleasantly, but both of them have things to do today. He sighs heavily and stands, “You’re an ass.”

“I can barely see,” Ren says, reaching forward; he sounds irritated, but is doing a terrible job of looking it. He gets something out of this, clearly, but it’s a mystery as to exactly what - the sight is hardly erotic. 

“You could’ve kept the subscription if you’re so fascinated by the patterns,” Hux says, ignoring the shiver up his side from where Ren’s hand has rucked up the bottom of his hoodie. They both have to play Overwatch in seven minutes for Phasma’s stream.

Ren hums low, letting the hoodie drop with a daring swipe of his fingers against the lower hem of the trunks, against Hux’s bare thigh. “...I wouldn’t wear them.”

“Hardly keeping with your aesthetic, are they?”

“Not yours, either,” Ren says, reaching forward again to curl his hand into the side of Hux’s wide hoodie pocket, shifting forward a step, “Not really.”

“We have to be live,” Hux mutters, tipping his head against his better judgment when Ren leans in for a kiss. His sense always seems to take holiday when Ren’s involved, especially when there’s no space between them. 

“She won’t care.” Ren says, blatantly sarcastic and pressing another, more huffy kiss against the side of Hux’s mouth. “She’ll just lose.”

“ _Ren_ ,” Hux says, forcing his voice to something more stern and reluctantly pulling the hand out of his hoodie pocket, shoving at Ren’s sternum at the same time. “Go.”

Ren steps back with a low grumble, a noise that seems to grow the further he gets away: a low whine, then a hard scoff, culminating in a loud, “ _ **Whatever**_.”

Hux curls a leg under as he drops back in his seat, determinedly ignoring any lingering libido, “You sound like a schoolchild about to have a tantrum.”

“Maybe I will,” Ren yells, ungently slamming the door closed. His noise continues until it becomes comprehensible again on the other side of the cam, “ -pid fucking Phasma.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The notes for this were basically : Ren _wasn't_ texting.

Hux’s eyes catch at the small logo on the box for the third time in five minutes, making him bite hard at his lip as he turns the letter opener, sliding the flat edge up and down, then up again against the taped seal. He knows exactly what lies inside, but every new glance at the logo makes him all the more wary to actually see it.

He exhales in a long breath as he turns the blade and slides it in a quick motion, popping the box straight open after having freed the sides and then waffled a straight five minutes before getting his courage up. He sits the letter opener down with a quiet clink, other hand flipping up the pink tissue paper to reveal his indulgent shame underneath, encouraged unknowingly by a man doing who-knows-what only a few meters away.

It’s not even something they discussed, really, but Hux had stumbled upon a certain half-hidden album a few weeks ago (full of pictures he should’ve been furious about, yet found oddly flattering), which is sort of a conversation. Ren clearly has something of a fetish, and Hux has always been a bit curious, so tomorrow being technically a holiday for sex makes the opportunity entirely too appropriate to pass up.

He’s just not certain which of the pairs to wear. 

The first on top are the black pair he’d settled on first, and they’re nothing too fancy, really… 

Alright, maybe a little, enough that Hux had made sure to measure his own hips for the right size, but… they’re certainly not as racy as the other pair in the box; the white pair with the outright window just above the ass. A classy window, worth $70 of lace and silk, but a window nonetheless.

All said, the lacier black… are probably going be it, matching better with what he has planned. They’re literally cheeky out the back end, enough that Hux is only looking and can already feel the thick fingers sneaking up under the seams. Ren will probably stretch them out a bit in clumsy excitement, kneading at Hux’s thighs before going those few inches further, shoving sheer fabric to the side as –

Hux startles at a sudden buzz at his hip, and nearly tries to hide the box from little more than a floating data in stupid panic.

* * *

The most difficult part is official plans aren’t exactly done between them, at least not on personal matters, so Hux is forced to settle with chilling the wine he bought for himself and waiting until the sky fades into solid black, then texting Ren to come over. Anything else could be considered suspicious, especially today, and Hux doesn’t need Ren getting more ideas of inadequacy compared to ‘proper couples.’

He had contemplated about going himself, sliding onto Ren’s lap, taking his attention from whatever mindless crap he’s got on, but… that would involve going out in the hall. He’s not provocatively dressed by conventional standards, anything lacy hidden by the hems of the jumper, and yes, he could put on trousers, but that would ruin the entire point.

Better just to drag Ren over here.

<<'Come here.'

 _‘Y?’_ >>

<< _’_ Why do you think?’

The ellipses last a long few moments, and Hux has an urge to walk over to smack at their adjoining wall. 

 _‘Okay’_ >> 

Hux rolls his eyes to the ceiling, with the usual disbelief of his choices, then exhales and grabs the wine. He pulls the cork out, loosened almost an hour ago when he’d decided to have a small glass first, and takes another swig that nearly ends in a spill when the door opens. 

He quickly grabs at the opened post, leafing through for a letter that is hastily thrown at Ren before he can take notice of any other conspicuous differences. The use of lacy underthings is sort of dependent on the reaction to this anyway, as nice as they are, but it's… still a sure thing. Probably. And depending on the response to mild federal crime.

“What is …” Ren trails off, pressing his lips into a tight line the further he reads down the letter. He takes a few deep breaths before dragging his eyes up, glaring hard with a heavy shade of embarrassment in his eyes. “Why do you have this?”

“Look at the heading,” Hux says, patiently ignoring the overwhelming urge to take another swig of the wine like some sort of lush. The bottle is still near full, and he doesn’t want to look a fool heaving it up, but it’s just so tempting with the skittering nerves along the base of his skull.

Ren glances down, expression relaxing into confusion. “This is… yours.” 

“Indeed,” Hux says, swallowing and nodding tightly, resisting the habit to crack his knuckles and forcing his hands flat along the counter. He takes a long breath, tipping his head and thinking of why he’d gone through with the tests to begin with, “I found yours on the floor, by the way. I put it in some drawer near your headphone stand.”

“Right,” Ren mutters, missing the half-confession almost entirely and still blinking at the paper. 

“Anyway, I decided, with the holiday,” Hux shrugs, “Why not?”

“Oh, so you… oh,” Ren says, seeming to absorb this with an unusual amount of mature aplomb – then again, one doesn’t get those sort of tests without expecting this sort of thing. He folds the letter back up and sets it down on the counter, his eyes glancing further along and catching on the wine. “Is that why you’re drinking?” 

“Not hardly,” Hux mutters, exhaling hard and standing up straight, revealing the pattern of the jumper from his side of the counter.

Ren for his part takes a moment to absorb it, then inhales a sharp breath. “That’s mine.”

“It is,” Hux agrees, glancing down and plucking at the sketchy skull pattern. It’s slightly ghastly, really, but that was probably the point, and that’s not to mention how utterly baggy it appears on him, a few sizes up from what he normally wears and stretched out across the collar. His scar is practically on display, entire upper part visible as a consequence.

“Did someone give it to you?” Ren asks, blinking rapidly again as if he thinks Hux might disappear, then exhaling at length, “I didn’t know we were that obvious.”

Hux thinks security would disagree, or that meddling building owner and the neighbors on their floor, not to mention the unlucky sod who had stumbled upon them in the gym a few days ago. He’s a little surprised their awful luck with getting caught hasn’t been alluded to in the monthly newsletter. “In a way.”

“And you just kept it?” 

“I was waiting for you to come take it back,” Hux says, feeling his shoulders tighten with nerves as he leans back. He spreads his hands invitingly for Ren to come to his side of the counter, nearer the convenient hall to his room. 

Ren moves slowly, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m really not,” Hux says, following every halting step with his eyes and suddenly regretting not making an attempt to check Ren’s porn history. It would be invasive and maybe a little scarring, but what if it’s the voyeurism and not the underwear? Hux is already starting to feel a fool and Ren hasn’t even seen them.

“Oh,” Ren says, pausing and leaning against the counter, just barely a foot away now. He drags his teeth across his lip, flashing white. “It is… It is  _way_  too big on you.”

Hux tips his head in agreement, resisting an entirely peculiar urge to tug at the neck of the jumper until it falls off one shoulder. It’s stretched out enough that it would undoubtedly hang as predicted, some true to life example of recent fashion, but on him it would look… foolish.

“You wearing anything under there?” Ren asks, reaching forward in his usual move and hiking up the hem of the jumper to see for himself. The color seems to drain from his expression before bursting back with ruddy force, and he easily covers his face with both large hands. “Oh, fuck.”

The reaction is a certain relief, as Hux had dreaded anything from confusion to pity, to disgust, but an actual blush is practically a treat. It’s so difficult to get Ren flushed with anything less than outright physical exertion.

“I’d like some feedback here,” Hux says, some of the tension letting out of his shoulders when he rolls them back, reaching forward and clenching a hand across the delightful flat of Ren’s stomach. The control of his tone is a near thing, and he swallows back a mildly hysterical giggle when Ren legitimately peeks through his fingers.

Ren gives an odd little groan, his eyes still magnetized to the inch or so of lace now peeking just under the hem of his jumper. He frees one of his hands, dropping it and gently running a finger along the edge before snapping his hand back, as if surprised at the texture. 

“You’re overreacting,” Hux murmurs, reaching down to grab the wrist of that hand and forcing it forward again to curl warm around his thigh. He tips inward at the same movement, pressing a smirking kiss to the knuckles of the fingers still clutching at Ren’s face.

Ren disagrees with a shake his head, finally letting up his grip and twisting that hand into the loose folds of the jumper. “I’m really not.”

“I did do some snooping, actually,” Hux says, leaning in for another kiss. A mild buzz from the wine is firmly settling in, making him brave, his skin hot. “So I’m feeling a little put-out that you’ve not gotten that phone out yet.”

Ren freezes his clumsy pawing, glancing up with wide eyes. “What?” 

“Do you remember asking me to take that utterly depressing photo for Twitter?” Hux asks, badly reining a smirk from his face, “Kylo staring at the pile of broken controllers in your office.”

“Yes…” Ren says slowly, his brow furrowing, evidently trying to find the correlation. His expression abruptly falls slack, then a mildly horrified look bursting in his eyes only a moment later. “You weren’t supposed to look at my albums!”

“Well, I did,” Hux says, tipping his head onto a wide shoulder as he leans forward, dipping into Ren’s back pocket and folding his fingers around the shape of Ren’s phone with a tug. “Clearly. You have far too many gym shots, as well.”

He leans back and swipes in that ridiculous pattern lock, a “K” because Ren has no sense of security, then taps the camera app with an absent hum. The sight of the open view finder is almost a surprise, pointed at his face, and he flips to the other lens before he can start talking himself out of it. A quick tip up on his toes as he clicks the capture, twice again just to be sure, fills the screen with a surprisingly flattering image of his ass, a rare thing, and he back on his heels to look at them properly. He slowly skips back and forth between pictures, trying to decide which to let Ren keep, until suddenly he has an even better idea – perhaps spurred on by roughly twenty-nine hours to anticipate. 

He reaches for Ren’s frozen hand, leaning forward and pulling until a palm lies heavy and warm over the back waistband in some imitation of possessive. The result looks even better, honestly, with Ren’s hand curved so large around Hux’s ass, splayed over the black lace, and Hux stares at it for another moment, then goes straight to the messages, resigned at his own perversion – ah, his name this week is…

“Mistral?”

“Metal Gear,” Ren says, voice absent, eyes blinking owlishly; his hand is still cupped around Hux’s ass. “Arms.”

“Ah,” Hux says, the vague description managing to tickle something at the back of his mind. “The Raiden one – Rising?”

“Revengeance,” Ren adds, then seems to suddenly return to present, eyes sharpening as he leans back suddenly, leaving Hux cold as he reaches out to snatch back the phone from Hux’s fingers. “Are you seriously drunk? You’re taking ass selfies like it’s Instagram.”

“This will not be showing up on Instagram,” Hux says, forcing his expression into a slightly affected glare and shifting forward, near touching noses with Ren as he jabs a pointed finger into that broad chest. “Understood?”

“Sure,” Ren says, sarcastically rolling his eyes down to the screen. He goes still again, brows going up near to his hairline, silent for an awkward few seconds that lead to him clearing his throat, “I mean, no – I def-definitely won’t. It won’t. Mine.”

“Good,” Hux says, rocking slightly on his heels and clearing his throat when it becomes apparent that letting Ren have the phone back was stupid, “I’d welcome you looking at the real thing for the next hour or so. Also, I’m not drunk.”

“Right,” Ren says dubiously, lifting his eyes for a long moment before looking back down. 

“I’m sort of… pretending to be,” Hux says, lowering his voice with no-little embarrassment. He watches for a few seconds, growing more and more irritated at the answering silence, then reaches forward and covers the display, forcing Ren to look up. “Get off your phone, you ass.”

“But – “ 

“Seriously?” Hux snaps, curling his fingers further around the phone and then yanking backward, enough of a surprise that it actually comes away, allowing him to throw the phone to the counter with a dangerous crack. He can almost bring himself to care. “Is the plan not obvious enough, or do I have to spell it out to get it through your thick skull?”

Ren stares for a too-long moment, then frowns, reaching back for his phone. “Rude.”

Hux reaches out with a quick curl of his fingers, grabbing Ren’s wrist before he can take back the phone. He digs his fingers into the sensitive tendons underneath, feeling a scowl cut across his face.

“Joking!” Ren yelps, a wheeze of a laugh audible at the back of his throat. He slouches faintly when Hux pulls him further away from the counter, shoulders curling in a familiar warning before he leans down in the next moment, locking his arms under Hux’s thighs and easily heaving up with a placating kiss on his collarbone. “I’m joking, come on.” 

“Stop it,” Hux mutters, his protests half-hearted at best. He still tilts his chin up for a better angle, swallowing against the momentary press of soft lips at his throat. “I’m mad at you.”

“You’re always mad at me,” Ren says, nuzzling further into Hux’s neck and still standing in the kitchen like Hux weighs little more than a bag of shopping. His forearms flex distractingly under the bare skin of Hux’s thighs, forecasting a fleeting grab at his ass. “ ’s like saying you’re feeling ginger today.” 

Hux scoffs under his breath, curling further around Ren and arching his back to more easily lock eyes with the smug bastard. “If you move further down the hall, maybe I’ll be feeling a little brunet, hm?”

“You’d look weird brunet,” Ren says, ever argumentative; he does start forward, forcing Hux to more firmly cross ankles at his back or risk falling. “Go blond. Closer.”

“Fine, blond,” Hux says, rolling his eyes and giving into an urge to flick at Ren’s ear in irritation. The distraction does little to help fool himself into not being excited by the inside of his own bedroom; it prickles something at the back of his mind, unobtrusive and not necessarily bad, but definitely…  _unnerving_. 

He gives an affected grunt when he’s dropped at the side of his bed, Ren summarily throwing off his own shirt and then collapsing at Hux’s feet, staring up with this sort of awe that makes the nervous feeling pulse low in Hux’s throat. The light touch of fingers follows, curling around his thighs and flexing just below the panties, and he almost thinks Ren’s being shy again until a pair of teeth brazenly sink into the meat of his inner thigh. 

“Ren!” Hux says, reaching out and shoving Ren’s head back to see a smirk flash before being buried under an utterly fake pout. 

Ren mutters something unintelligible, rolling his eyes and openly petulant. He leans in again, hands at the back of Hux’s knees, and drags a gentler pair of teeth down near an older fading bruise, pausing with a soft kiss because he’s possessive, but a sap. 

“How long have you been sneaking pictures, then,” Hux asks, drawing both hands through Ren’s hair, ineffectively combing through thick curls and dragging it behind his ears, then reversing and pulling it all forward in a messy heap over his eyes – he doesn’t seem to even notice. "Just since the underwear service started sponsoring you?”

“Two years,” Ren says, moving up now and kissing wetly at Hux’s thigh, just under the lacy hem. “Fuck, how is this so hot?”

“Ah, I – I… What?” Hux says, sliding his fingers to the back of Ren’s head, pulling and forcing him to look up. “I’m sorry, years?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ren says, spreading a hand distractingly across all the places his lips just touched, kneading his fingers into the damp spots. “You uh, you were playing like… Alien, I think, and had to get up because of something and – and that was the first one. Never hit printscreen so hard in my life."

“Right,” Hux mutters, tightening his grip on Ren’s hair for a just a moment before relaxing, giving the idea a second thought; it remains far more flattering than it should that Kylo was obsessed with him for so long. “You’ve pretended I was some cam boy, haven’t you?” 

“Once or twice,” Ren admits, outright unashamed, then suddenly lowering his eyes for a moment and shrugging weakly, as if he’s just remembered something. “Usually, I just…”

Hux drops his hand, leaning back on the mattress and nudging with a knee when Ren trails off. “What?”

“Just pretended, you know, when we talked that it was different. Between us.” Ren rests his cheek against Hux’s thigh and gives a small shrug, peeking up with a guileless stare. “Kinda stupid jackoff fantasy.”

Hux stares for a moment, not understanding the inference until it seems to sneak up on him, prompting the unnerving sensation to grow categorically anxious. He takes a short breath, then swallows tightly; how dare Ren get so sweet when Hux is feeling exposed? It’s practically a targeted attack. 

“Damn, though,” Ren breathes, shifting up on his knees and dragging his fingers along the underside of Hux’s legs, all the way up and under the scritchier lace at the crease of his ass, palming hard and unsubtle. “If you had a cam show? Fuck. My entire trust would be in your pocket.”

Ah, there’s his boy, right on schedule. 

“Flattering,” Hux says, forcing his voice dry and quirking an eyebrow. 

“Should be,” Ren mutters, visibly concentrating a few seconds longer on the lacy hem before palming at the back of Hux’s legs with a low, thoughtful hum. “Why don’t you have stockings?”

“I’ve not got the legs for  _stockings_ ,” Hux scoffs, shifting his balance and tilting back to slowly lay flat onto the mattress, and fairly gracefully in his opinion, only slipping slightly against the thin coverlet. He encourages Ren to follow with a gentle tightening of his ankles, and almost rolls his eyes when Ren all too eagerly fills the new space.

“Have you even seen your legs?” Ren asks, brashly curling his hands at Hux’s thighs as if to further the point, slowly sliding up and down from his knees like he’s already feeling silk. “Have you?” 

“I do use them rather often,” Hux says, huffing through his nose and canting his hips up until Ren gets the message, leaning down to mouth gently at the front of the panties. It’s definitely narcissistic, but he must admit that the sight of his own hardening cock peeking through the lace, straining beneath Ren’s lips, is a downright erotic image. He reaches for the jumper, pulling it up and feeling the cool air of the room brush across the heated skin of his chest, rousing an urge to twist at his own nipple. His brain already has some rather mortifying associations with wearing the jumper, and this is only making it worse. 

“No,” Ren says, abruptly reaching up and grabbing the hem, yanking it back down over Hux’s chest. 

“It’s going to get hot,” Hux snaps, pulling at it again and huffing when the jumper stretches worryingly between them. “Ren.”

“It’s supposed to be hot,” Ren mutters, shamelessly trying to distract with a flat drag of his tongue at the crease of Hux’s thigh. 

Hux bitterly attempts to stay on task for a moment, then gives up and drops his hands, the sleeves falling down his wrists as he palms across Ren’s shoulders. “Fine.”

Ren slides one hand up the tolerated jumper, palming at Hux’s waist while the other strokes Hux through the silk. “Fuck, how is this real.”

“Self-indulgence,” Hux confesses, neglecting to hide exactly how much he enjoys the soft feeling of lacy whorls against his skin, now dragging down his cock and pressed tight against balls; he’s been half-hard practically since the moment he put them on.

“Seriously?” Ren says, his voice little more than a yelp of surprise. He gives a curious growl, his weight rocking the mattress as he shifts further upward and presses his face just under Hux’s jaw, kissing too soft at his exposed throat. “Wow.”

“Stop it,” Hux mutters, refusing to look down and acknowledge the outright affection; a feeling crawls up his throat, embarrassing and awful, in a sort of shame that is not truly shameful. 

He’s having sex on Valentines Day, with his  _boyfriend_ , and in the most expensive underwear he’s ever touched that he bought specifically for the occasion. And not only all of that, he’s gone through hoops to ensure it all happens without a condom, because some stupid part of him believes it will make it all just that much more serious between them. 

“Hux?” Ren says, shifting away almost straightaway - always too perceptive at the worst moments. “You look like you’re freaking out.”

“I’m not,” Hux says, exhaling slowly and deciding his voice sounds perfectly calm. 

“Open your eyes, maybe?” Ren says, a rustling of the bedspread loud before a familiar pair of hands cover Hux’s face, palms spanning his cheeks and thumbs gently pressing across his eyelids. “You’re making me freak out.”

“I don’t do stuff like this,” Hux mutters, though he tightens his grip on Ren’s waist, feeling the muscle there flex with threat to move farther away and dreading it low in his chest. “I don’t want to.”

Ren is silent for a long moment, absolutely tense, then hums low, relaxing from his posture as a smirking kiss is pressed just under Hux’s chin. “We fucked like the day before yesterday, but I respect your chastity, Prince Vael.”

“Ass,” Hux scoffs, reaching up and lightly slapping at the side of Ren’s overlarge head. He hates to admit it, and he won’t aloud, but the levity has somewhat reduced the heavy press of anxiety. “Valentines Day. I barely considered it a holiday before now.”

Ren scoffs under his breath, an odd note in his voice, “Last year we played Lovers in a Dangerous Spacetime.”

“Organa,” Hux says, exhaling slowly, blinking his eyes open to find Ren frowning down, brow furrowed and ludicrously upset for a man sporting very prominent hard-on. “It’s not exactly lingerie and chocolates, you know that, and we weren’t even together.”

Ren raises his brows, pout slowly fading, “You got chocolate?” 

“I may have,” Hux admits, not about to divulge that he’d bought them on a whim because the novelty tin sported a rather fetching image of Lord Sauron in full armor.

He watches exasperatedly as Ren visibly builds up to asking for the chocolates, and slides his hand up an enticing swell of chest as he shifts his knee against Ren’s growing erection in attempt to draw attention back toward more pleasurable things. Ren has something of a point, awful as it is to acknowledge, while a lot has changed in terms of when and where, very little has of how he deals with Kylo. 

Hux still delicately balances petty distractions with personal victories, only now instead of having to awkwardly end it for the night with an ambiguous promise for later through a screen and a surge of existential loneliness, he can just pass out. 

“You’re still thinking,” Ren grumbles, unexpectedly going lax and becoming little more than dead weight on Hux’s chest. “But you’re still hard. I don’t know what to do.”

“Get the lube,” Hux says, trying to keep from wheezing as he shoves hard at Ren’s chest – how does he weigh so much? 

Ren takes a deep breath and rolls off, reaching out for the squat little side table, sliding it open and making a baffled noise. “Where is it?” 

“You threw it last time,” Hux says, shifting further up on the pillows and curling an arm across one of them; the anxious feeling is still back behind his lungs, but it’s shrinking with every moment of proof that nothing has really changed in him. “I’m sure it’s still there.”

“Seriously?” Ren mutters, crawling completely off the bed. He manages to lose his trousers and pants through some sort of serendipity, now looking lost and naked as he gropes around into corners. "But I was... wasn't I bottom?"

“You were,” Hux says, knowing exactly where it is – he’d walked past it yesterday morning and left it in an act of vindictive laziness. "And impatient."

“Alright, fuck you,” Ren declares, taking a deep breath and practically lurching back down onto the mattress. He heaves a sigh and rolls over onto his front, voice muffled by a pillow. “Fuck you.”

“I was hoping for it,” Hux says, swallowing back a bark of amusement when a large hand reaches out and tries to grab him, only to miss and smack into the wall with a sad crack of knuckles. He grabs when it goes for a second time, forcing it back to Ren’s side. “You’re such a brat.” 

“You entrapped me into blue balls,” Ren says, just barely leaning up on his side if only to show the scowl on his face. 

Hux rolls his eyes, tilting up on his knees and stepping off the bed, looking toward a darker corner near his closet. He’d tell Ren not to throw it again, but that would only lead to making sure it happens in a few minutes.

He pauses at the side of the bed, holding the bottle just out of reach when Ren tries to grab it. “Have you fucked anyone in the last week and a half?” 

“You?” Ren answers, speaking slowly as if he’s not quite sure it’s the right answer.

“Spot-on,” Hux says, handing over the lube and ignoring how his mind is suddenly taking his own joke with utter gravity. He can very easily see Ren answering with something else, just as sarcasm, and then Hux would have had to stab him.

He takes his prior position with a stretch across the pillows, watching Ren shift over and kneel between his legs with admitted satisfaction. It always feels like he’s winning something anew when Ren is so visibly eager.

“Hey, so,” Ren starts, palming hard at Hux’s ass and curling fingers inward, dragging the textured fabric dry against his hole and setting his skin flushing with heat. “What if you kept them on?” 

“It would stretch them out,” Hux says, tempted to reach down and shove the hand away, but not quite able to bring himself to do it. He probably could’ve gotten something more like a thong for that, but they just look so uncomfortable. 

“Not a no,” Ren says, his voice lilting with a familiar stubborn tone. “I’ll replace them.”

Hux rolls his eyes, “You can’t fix everything with money.”

Ren mumbles something unintelligible, but absolutely sarcastic, then pulls at the already thin fabric to reach in and stroke at Hux’s erection, “They’re going to be stained anyway.”

Hux swallows a startled breath at the feeling of a teasing thumb teasing just around his foreskin, and glances down to watch as Ren shamelessly cheats by leaning forward to suck at the emergent head of his cock through the lace. He twists his hand into Ren’s hair to keep him down a few seconds longer, thrusting upward when fingers leave his cock to roll his sac, “Obscene man.”

“So  _yes_ ,” Ren says, leaving a cooling, wet stain at the front of the panties as he leans up and grab the lube. 

Hux sighs his assent with an opening of his thighs, catching the enticing sight of Ren’s erection bobbing large and eager before he gets shoved back by a large palm. He inhales expectantly and rolls his hips up at the familiar sensation of his cheeks being spread, large fingers slippery and cool with lube dragging across his hole, soon a single one easing in and out with practiced skill for the quick addition of another. 

Ren quickly finds exactly the right angle, the mildly uncomfortable sensation of stretching blending with drags against Hux’s prostate at every other inward thrust. It makes Hux’s ears hot and breath short, which is presumably the sight that prompts Ren to groan, “If only I could have a picture of this…”

“If you’re good, maybe,” Hux pants, shifting down onto Ren’s abruptly motionless fingers, trying again to find the right angle with some difficulty. “Ren, come on.”

“I can’t believe you’d be into that,” Ren says, a skeptical turn at his lips as he starts moving again, twisting his hand up with an inexplicable curl of his fingers that makes Hux close his eyes with a gasp. He shifts his grip on Hux’s thigh, leaning forward and angling for a kiss that gets indulged a little reluctantly, more clumsy and awkward with the position than truly unwanted. 

Hux takes a slow breath when Ren pulls back, fingers withdrawing, leaving Hux feeling remarkably empty and impatient; he never used to get off so much on just simple fingering – it was always just a perfunctory act before the main event. He realizes with a belated glance upward he’s been meant to say something, catching curious eyes, “Only because your life would be far more ruined if it leaked,”

“Yeah,” Ren mutters, leaning back and grabbing the bottle again with a familiar snap of the seal. “Sure.”

“Not to mention how much you hate seeing your own face on camera,” Hux continues, shifting up when he feels thighs nudge at the back of his own, the panties tightening and stretching around the shape of his cock as Ren pulls them further to the side. He really cares far less than he should about the potential for them being destroyed not a week out of purchase. 

“You know,” Ren says, the thick head of his cock slowly pressing in before retreating completely with a shallow jab of hips, trading little more than cruelty for conversation, “I’ve never fucked anyone without a rubber.”

“Very responsible of you,” Hux mutters, tempted to actually kick Ren into gear; the sensation of a bare cock hot and leaking up against his hole is somewhat new as well, but you don’t see him making a big deal. In fact, he’d like more to actually experience it than talk about it.

“So if I come faster – ”

“Oh, for fucks sake,” Hux says, leaning forward and practically bending himself in half to grab at Ren’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss that is at least partially just to shut him up. “I don’t care.”

“You’re way bendier than someone should be with a metal plate in their chest,” Ren says, kneading at Hux’s thighs, even nudging forward, yet still just teasing against Hux’s hole. The man does nothing but talk about his dick, only when the time comes to use it? Nothing. 

Hux swallows a whine at the back of his throat, leaning back and staring at the ceiling with a new thought that he needs to buy some sort of training collar; the mean, spiky kind. “I hate you.”

“That’s really mean,” Ren says, an arrogant note of amusement in his voice, “Especially on Valentines Day.”

It becomes suddenly clear what is happening, admittedly a late realization by how often it occurs, but no less absolutely infuriating. Hux reaches out and grabs Ren by the chin, gently shaking, “I’m not saying it, you just have to do it.”

A ridiculous pout crosses Ren’s lips, at odds with his body finally getting with the program and making the both of them gasp, finally sliding his cock in with a practiced sway of his hips. He thrusts shallowly a few times, then takes longer pulls, giving Hux’s cock a clumsy few strokes with the hand holding the panties open.

“Fu-fuck,” Hux gasps, swallowing around a suddenly dry mouth and feeling a moan escape without his allowance. He’s quickly entering that delightful place in his mind that’s little more than full of thoughts about how good it feels to have big hands around every part of him, a big cock inside him. Really, upsettingly good; too good, and especially so when he curls his leg up over a matching big shoulder for a better angle.

“Ride me,” Ren says, palming hard at Hux’s ass with the other hand and practically lifting him on the next thrust. “Be so hot.”

“Say that about everything,” Hux murmurs, digging in his ankle and urging Ren to keep moving; he’s reluctant to pause now when he’s so damned close, between the constant drag of lace against his balls and a few intermittent pulls at his cock. “Lost all meaning.” 

“Still,” Ren says, his breath little more than heavy panting, pace becoming increasingly erratic; slow and torturous, then almost letting the panties slip with a particularly fervent set of thrusts.

Hux drops his leg back with sparing thought to loss of angle, arching his back to and reaching with both hands until Ren meets him, giving eager access to his mouth. Hux pulls at the delicate hair on the back of Ren’s neck, fingers tightening with each thrust, absently delighted as it makes him groan and bite harder at his lips. 

He grunts in loss when Ren leans back, moaning as he pulls out without warning, and watches in some equal parts frustration and resignation when that overlarge cock begins to pulse and come over the front of the panties rather than in his ass. The overstretched fabric relaxes over his own cock only a few seconds later, Ren breathing heavy and sliding both hands up to Hux’s knees. 

Hux waits a cursory few moments, entire body throbbing and still absolutely aching to come, then tightens his hands on Ren’s shoulder until he feels flesh curl up under his nails. “ _Ren_.”

“Jesus fuck,” Ren yelps, shifting into action far too belatedly and yanking the waistband down with a clumsy drag of his fingers. He shifts down similar to earlier, only now without that irritating barrier in between as he drags his tongue along Hux’s frenulum, sucking hard at the head, then taking it all down in one go. 

Hux falls against the pillow with a gasp, both hands having found their way into Ren’s damp hair; he idly remembers he’s meant to pull from the way Ren pushes back, but doesn’t quite find the time to so much as curl it around his fingers in the few seconds it takes to feel everything snap and release.

He opens is eyes lazily nce his muscles start to relax, leaning forward when Ren pulls at the jumper to get it over his head, and grimacing when it’s used as a very expensive towel over the front of his dick and thighs. The cold air is something of a shock, and he’s disgusted to touch at his own chest and feel it practically dripping – he looks almost as bad as Ren. 

Ren rolls over and crawls up next to him, still wiping at his mouth and careless of many prior conversations demanding some responsibility of clean up from the winner of the weekly gamble. Hux may have technically lost on purpose, and the worst of it may be soaked into clothing, but that doesn’t quite excuse Ren snubbing convention just because he’s realized it; granted, it’s oddly difficult to actually say now that they’re settled in and near dozing. 

“Do you know what they call these?” Hux asks, idly reaching down and plucking at the delicate waistband, now potentially irreparably stained. He should get up and go shower, at the very least change before the lace gets everything else disgusting, or take off the duvet cover, but he’s warm – it’s all so appalling what regular sex has done to him.

Ren exhales slowly, silent for a long moment. “…Briefs?”

“Boyshorts,” Hux corrects, feeling a dumb smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. It’d been at least eighty percent why he’d bought them; the other twenty percent mostly to do with the fact they looked more generous at the front. 

Ren hums in the back of his throat, lifting his hand and, as if he’d been reading Hux’s mind, clumsily attempting to tuck his cock back underneath the lace. He pats it once he’s satisfied, like he’s pleased, “Should be be more room for your dick, then.”

Hux shoves him away with a wince, turning over onto his stomach and pressing his cheek just slightly against Ren’s shoulder. He had actually glanced at some pairs built for his cock, but became rather distracted with the models looking far more like Ren. A wispy memory of fantasy sneaks across his mind, and he has to shove it out before he can linger too long on it – this is about him. He might even get a pair of stockings to match the white ones before he reveals them, since the suggestion was practically demanded of him. 

“Wait,” Ren says, voice barking loud in the quiet room. He abruptly shifts away, removing himself as mildly uncomfortable pillow and shoving down a few inches to further expose Hux’s lower back. His fingers slide along the edge of the pants, then slip underneath.

“Stop it,” Hux says, reaching back and halfheartedly swiping for him to let off. 

Ren just gives a short yelp, like he’s suddenly been burned by the slightly itchy waistband of a pair of lacy knickers. He pulls at them, gentle despite an obvious haste, and draws them all the way off Hux’s legs before bounding off the bed.

Hux rubs his face into the pillow, exhaling in a long groan. He just wants to go to sleep – if he doesn’t, then he’ll have to take a shower, and afterward he’ll be awake for who knows how long.

“I can’t believe you let me come on $300 underwear.” 

“No?” Hux mutters, turning over and wincing as light fills the room, interrupting the comfortable, sleepy mood; the sound of running water handily erases any lingering. “Rather less than that.”

Ren exhales slowly, and seems to actually deflate of the uncalled-for panic. “Department store.”

“Neiman Marcus,” Hux says, throwing an arm behind his head and watching Ren through the bathroom door. It would almost be domestic and terrifying, if it weren’t for the fact it was midnight and Ren is panicking about lace. “There’s something very wrong with you.”

The light turns out just as the water stops, but the shape of Ren is obvious even in the suddenly oppressive dark. He slumps down hard in the bed and reaches out, curling around Hux as if he hasn’t just been acting mad, “I still washed them out.”


End file.
